I feel its important right from the start to make clear to the reader that because there is a prevalence of photos of me and the fact that the vast majority of the log is written by me that this may suggest I held some prominent position within Delta Company. Let me assure you I did not. I was just one of the many and was no more important then any of the others. I like to think I was as ordinary and as average as the next "Joe". At the present time the Log is heavy with photos and info from the 3rd. platoon perspective. As it would turn out, the two soldiers in 3rd. platoon, who were avid photo takers were myself and John Farrior and we were in the same squad. So you can't help but get many redundant photos of the same group of people. I did have an above average zeal for writing letters. I wanted to assure the reader that I never exaggerated anything when I wrote home to Linda, family or friends. This was my first and last war experience and I found no need to dramatize it more then it was. I hope you enjoy my story and the Delta Log and learn something from it. ..Ed Nored

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Growing up in the 1950-60's, it was quite routine to have to say the Pledge of allegiance to the American flag during the first class of each day at school. You stood and put one hand over your heart. You looked at the flag and began the pledge. Another thing we did on a routine basis was practice "duck and cover". I believe a bell or siren would sound over the p.a. system. The teacher would tell us to get underneath our desk and cover our heads. The teacher or an appointed person would pull the curtains closed and then having done all we could the classroom fell silent. During that silence you couldn't help but wonder what it would really be like if the A bomb went off. A few minutes later the all clear was sounded. Our eyes squinted as the huge wall size curtain was slid open and sunlight filled the room. It was also routine in our lives to hear the civil defense siren go off everyday at noon. We were also shown films instructing us where and what to do if the A bomb went off or attack was imminent. To top things off , one day I noticed a very small one room office building being built just down the street across from the school in an large open field. The same field that I and my friends had vicious dirt clod fights. My friends and I checked out the building and wondered what it was for. They never did put up a sign of any sort. We wondered around back and discovered a metal door lying on the ground. As it turned out it was a bomb shelter. They never did put up a sign nor did I ever see a salesman occupy it. Selling bomb shelters was just someone hoping to profit from the countries paranoia. Who would ever want to be the only person on the block with a safe place to go during an attack? All this happened as I went to Kimball Elementary School ( K-6) in Hayward California. In the photo at left I am standing 2nd from left. I'm the catcher for the team. Its 1961. The kid to my left is Jerry Klevin. During baseball or football practice if you threw Jerry the ball he would try to turn even the simplest of catches into a dramatic catch. He actually would dive or roll to the ground when it was obvious it was not necessary. I'm sure he grew up to be an actor. Bottom row 3rd from left is Gary W. A very angry hot headed kid. I felt sorry for him. In dodgy ball, if you were in the circle and Gary got the ball. Lookout. He was the type who would have been happy painting body symbols on the ball for everyone he had injured. Most of us are 11-12 years old at the time. I have fond memories of Kimball. The rest of the guys were great and so were the teachers.

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Shown on the left are a few examples of the many war comic books that I grew up with. It was books like this that sparked an early interest in WW 2. I can still see myself as a boy in front of our black and white Admiral TV totally awe struck at the number of ships, tanks, soldiers and planes shown in the war documentaries. The Hollywood movies, many made during the war, were always great to watch. Their patriotic themes and messages still resonated long after the war ended. I was affected no less by them. I played Army and cleared my neighborhood of Jap snipers and Nazis. There was no mercy for a careless neighbor who had walked into a battle and was cut down in the crossfire. Their cries of "Hey kid! Get off my lawn!" did them no good. The Victory at sea movie and later, TV series, was the best. The Music that accompanied the unbelievable scenes was unforgettable. But, besides the fascination with the tools of war and the fantasy war play with my friends. Eventually the waste of it all sinks in. Cities towns and villages gutted by bombs and fire. The faces of so many people of all ages and race from so many different countries. The pain in their faces. That resonated also.

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My father, Newell Nored, may have been the biggest spark for peaking my interest in the war. Looking back I don't remember Dad talking about the war for more then 10 minutes at a time. If you added it all up over his life time those periods might come to a grand total measured in hours not days. He had served with the U.S. Army 96th Division. The 96th took part in battles in the Philippines (Leyte) and in the last big battle of the Pacific, Okinawa. Shown on the left are just about all the photos he had of the war. The one and only photo of him taken over seas is the one of him sitting on top of his armored car. "Sad Sack". Dad was in a reconnaissance cavalry unit that was the first to make contact with the Japanese front line. Growing up I had always wished he had taken more photos. I wanted to know more of what he went through. I think from that frustration was one reason I made sure I took photos and kept a diary when I went to Nam.

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Shown on the left is one of the few letters Dad sent home. The others are the typical "V" mail letters. It was written as his unit sat on a boat a month after Okinawa had been taken. It took about 3 months to secure Okinawa. Over 7000 American soldiers were killed and the casualty rate was close to 50000. (Based on KIA,WIA & combat fatigue cases) The Navy, just off shore, fought off 1900 Kamikaze attacks. In a different letter Dad refers to the Jap planes as "washing machine Charley", because of the way their engines sounded. In the last part of the letter he writes, "Sure be proud when we all can come home. I am really tired of the Army. It looks like we are going to have to take every foot of Japan before they give up. They just won't give up." Considering what they had just been through you can imagine what these men were thinking. If it cost this much in human life to take Okinawa what would it cost to take Japan? Will never know. As Dad wrote this letter on Aug. 6th pondering a bleak if not short future. They dropped the A bomb on Hiroshima.

From all this history I came away with what a real hero is. It was the typical average good old American foot soldier. The war images on TV changed from black and white to color just in time for my war. I admired the soldiers of my generation just as much but Vietnam was not WW 2.

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In Sept. 65 the First Cavalry Division (Air Mobile) began arriving in Vietnam. Most of the Division crossed the Pacific in ships. Two months later in mid November the "Cav " would fight its first big battle and suffer 234 killed at LZ X-Ray and LZ Albany.... Mean while back on Sharon St. in San Lorenzo, California, 3 neighbor hood teenagers try to practice stunts on my Honda 150 "Dream" motorcycle. I'm on the left with Steve on the bike and his older brother Jerry Wilkens on the right. At this time in history were busy being typical goof off, awkward teens. Photo dated Sept. 65. The draft and the wars build up of troops isn't really effecting our lives or a concern yet. I'm more worried about my acne clearing up. I was really self conscious about it. It was really bad. If it was a Tuesday I was looking forward to watching another TV episode of "Combat" starring Vic Morrow as Sgt. Saunders along with Cage, "Little John", Doc and Kirby. It was always disappointing when Saunders never fired his 45 Thompson. I always looked forward to hearing that gun. Jerry on the right had problems,stemming from a divorced mom and Dad. He was terribly reckless. He would join the Navy after graduating and in a letter to me when I was in Nam expressed, "Ed I know you will be disappointed in me but I tried some drugs". Even into the late 70's Jerry was still m.i.a. in the drug world. 3 of my friends on Sharon St. had alcoholic mothers. Their slurred speech and tipsy stature was commonplace. Growing up I remember feeling sorry for my friends. Despite this there was a lot of fun to be had.

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Having just blown out the candles on my 18th birthday cake. My first legal responsibility was to head for the Selective Service and register for the Draft. If I remember correctly the item shown on the left is one half of the registration card. After filling out basic information they tore the card in half, keeping my info and then handed me the other half. As you can see there were many classifications. I was never good at school and struggled to be at the top half of any list. So to finally make it to the top and be classified 1-A, well the victory was bittersweet.

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Having just graduated from high school, class of 1967, a group of my fellow class mates have headed for Yosemite National Park. I'm fairly certain this took place in June. It was a little fling before we had to deal with the reality of the draft and the war. Counting the photographer, of the 12 people present on this trip. 7 went into the service, 2 were classified 4F and the other 3 I am unable to provide info on. Student deferments was certainly a good option for many but many of my friends it seemed chose the Navy or Air Force. They would have to spend 3 or 4 years in the service compared to being drafted for 2 years service in the Army. Their reasoning was they might learn something in the service that would benefit them in life and the 2nd biggest reason. They would come home alive and with all their limbs. You could also join the Army and enlist for 3 or more years and pick the job you wanted to do. Even if you had been drafted you had this option. What you wanted to avoid was an Army job with the code 11B also known as " the lousy stinking blood sweat and tears infantry." Concerning the 2 park rangers. They had stopped by to remind us there was a noise level limit at Yosemite.

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Another option besides those mentioned above was the National Guard or the Army Reserve. After graduating I immediately tried to enlist but was told that the waiting list was years long. So here is my attitude and situation as I remember it just after graduation from high school. I don't believe in the war, I want to spend as little time in the service as possible. I have two options left that I'm aware of. Voluntarily enlist in the Army for 2 years or wait for the draft. I decide to wait for the draft and in making that decision I had accepted I would go to Nam. Two things helped accepting the idea I would go to Nam. As kids, most of us grow up wanting to impress our fathers and do things similar to what they had done in life. Perhaps if my Dad had been in the Navy I would have gone that route. He had been in the Army and I would do the same thing and the bonus to that was I would become part of a group of people I admired growing up "the good old American foot soldier!"

As I waited for the draft I finally broke up with a girl I had been seeing since graduation. She was a year older then me and had moved to the Bay Area to escape the small town she grew up in and even more so, the exploring hands of her stepfather. I tried too hard to make things work. There's some problems you just cant fix. It was late 1968 that I was introduced to Linda Dalton. Her introduction was a true gift. She is shown in the photo on the left. Photo taken in the hills of Oakland Calif. overlooking the San Francisco Bay Area. It would be impossible for me to write about Nam with out mentioning her. I wrote her nearly every day while in training and in Nam. It was like talking to her each day. If I had been a bomber pilot in WW 2 her name would have been painted on the nose.

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The only fault I could find with Linda was, that she didn't understand the concept of cruising the strip. She just couldn't grasp the social and cultural aspects of young males driving back and forth in the same one mile stretch of boulevard in backed up traffic throwing "revs" at each other. Linda always kept a book close by when things got too exciting cruising with me. But if a Janis Joplin song came on she would suddenly break into a karaoke or should I say "caraoke" pantomime of Janis. With that great hair being thrown about Linda had Janis down pat. I had a good job, a nice car and a great girl. I was a very fortunate 19 year old.

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I just realized this page is starting to look a lot like ebay. Well here's some nostalgia. No reserve. Ed Nored historical artifact. In the mid 60's they came out with a 4 track tape player. Nothing was cooler then to be cruising the strip playing "Under my thumb" by the Rolling Stones with the windows down and to have some guy or girl pull up next to you ,hear the music and yell out to you," Hey what station is that on?". With all the smug arrogance you could muster you would reply. "Its a tape man. Its a tape." Months later the superior,smaller and better 8 track players came out. Eventually the amount of tapes becomes a problem. Shown on the left is a homemade tape box my good friend Chuck Spencer made for me. I added the 3 photos of some of Playboy Magazine employees. You know, to sort of dress up the box. When Linda got into my car one day and opened the box to select a tape she couldn't help but notice them. I heard her say " Ahh ED. What are these?". That look women give men was waiting for me as I turned my head. I was still young and this may have been the first time I saw the look. But I understood it. Soon after and I mean really soon after me and the girls in the box went our separate ways. Shown with the box are tapes from it as well as some pavement markers borrowed from work.

My brother in law Sonny Hinkel got me a job on his crew placing pavement markers on various highway jobs. Shown on the left is Sonny, sitting, throwing me another marker after he has dropped some epoxy glue onto it. I would flip the marker over and press it down onto a designated mark that we had laid previously. We would go for a mile like that placing over a thousand a day.

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You always had to stay alert and conscious of the traffic. These 2 photos were taken on a 2 lane road in northern California. We worked on busy interstates and even on downtown streets and boulevards. I learned that girls love to flirt and could act as crazy as us guys as they slowly drove by. It was a lot of fun. Northern California is beautiful and I loved being outside. We had our share of close calls and angry people yelling at us cause we had traffic backed up. I remember the sound of cars skidding then another and another. You just waited for the sound of the crash. Many of the jobs were out of town and I got use to staying at motels. It paid well and I was able to spend money on the car and Linda. I began to think the draft board might have lost my name. Maybe the little card I filled out dropped thru the file drawer and onto the floor. Maybe just maybe.

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I returned to my parents home one afternoon. Walked through the door. Said "Hi" to my Mom. She said "Hi" and then shortly after added "There's something on the dresser for you". As soon as she said that I knew what she was referring to. As I walked into my bedroom I realized the party was over. Looking back its amazing how easy it was for the government to draft me. The size of the letter wasn't big, intrusive or intimidating. It probably was delivered along with the Montgomery Wards and utility bill. There weren't 2 or 3 big well armed soldiers that showed up at the door. There was no dramatic scene played out at my house as the soldiers tried to drag me out of the house with my Mom hanging onto my ankle screaming "Please please don't take my son! My only son! Please!" There was just this little letter telling me to report for my pre induction physical. And so I did. Days later I drove to the Selective Service office in Hayward Calif. and from there myself and many others loaded on a bus and traveled to the induction office in Oakland Calif. This particular Building had been the target of many anti -war protests which led to many riots. The Berkeley Campus was only minutes or should I say a rocks throw away down the street. As we filed off the bus I was handed the pamphlet shown on the left
by one of the many anti-war protesters marching outside the building.
After a lengthy physical exam we were again bussed back to Hayward. A few weeks later I received another letter informing me I had done so well on my physical test that the government wanted to hire me for 2 years as a soldier. I could not turn them down. I wound up again at Oakland where a new group of draftees and volunteers were all sworn in. We were set free for awhile to return home but had to be at the Oakland airport late that night for a flight to Ft. Lewis. 3 good friends Rick, Kerry and Linda saw me off.

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Though I hated being in the Army it was an experience like no other. Our government has collected a wide variety of personalities and characters from all 50 states. Some are from good homes some from bad. Some are volunteers, some drafted and some are here because a judge in some court room had given them the option of jail or join the Army. In one of my first group of letters I sent to Linda I had mentioned I had broken up 2 fights since I had been here. One between an officer and enlisted man. There were people you liked and connected to. There were others you simply felt sorry for and others you avoided like they were an unexploded bomb on the battlefield. You had no other choice but to get along with each other. You cant help but bond with people in this situation. We trained, slept, ate and went to the bathroom together. We were all in the same boat and that boat was headed for Nam. In the photo on the left someone has sent a bag of Kazoos and the platoon is trying its best to mimic a popular tune at the time.

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One of the popular songs of the time was by a group called Country Joe and the Fish. Shown on the left in a letter to Linda are the lyrics to the song. Our platoon sang it often when given a chance. The training staff seem to enjoy it. Perhaps, because they knew the last line in the song could be the case for some of us. "Be the first one on your block to come home in a box". I think through out history men of any Army in the world had some song to sing that helped them face the reality of war and their own death. One day our company as well as another filed into the base movie theatre which doubled as a lecture hall. Before the training lecture began the other company suddenly began singing the popular song at the time "These eyes" by the group, The Quess Who. They sounded much like a professional mens choir. The original lyrics of the song opened with "These eyes cry every night for you. These arms long to hold you again." But after the first verse I realized they had changed the lyrics to reflect the reality of where we were headed and what might happen to us. I never did bother to get a copy of their version of the song with its morbid lyrics but even today when I hear it on the Oldie but goodie channels on the radio I still remember their version. "I have no eyes to see you nor arms to hold you ..........." Words to that effect. When they finished that song. It was dead quiet. Their song was a lecture of its own.

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Nored and the M-14 rifle after a day at the rifle range and of course more marching. My ear plugs can be seen hanging from the waist. The lawn in front of our barracks is just to the left.

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As Charly Scott relaxed on the lawn in front of the barracks I jokingly expressed how we could get out of the Army. Real quick! Like today.!!!.

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Basic training was 8 weeks long. Outside our barracks we had a daily routine of displaying how many days we had left, see photo. 25 days to go. I cant help but think how many thousands had come before us that had gone through the same ritual.

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Shown left a fellow soldier at the rifle range aiming his M-14 down range. The M-16 replaced the heavier M-14. The white spots to the extreme left are the targets. One day I was chosen for work detail and worked at the end of the range changing the targets. There was a large bunker we all staid in when the shooting started. I remember standing at the bunker door listening to the zzzzip zzzip sound of the rounds going over.

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(Nored) The worst day of training for me was the Chemical Biological and Radioactive training or CBR. I wrote Linda a 7 page letter (both sides) detailing what had happened that day.......The four platoons of our training company have been placed in bleachers out side in the woods somewhere around Ft. Lewis. A Sgt.gives us a 2 hour lecture on chemical warfare. At its completion we fall out into a formation and are told to put on our gas masks. They begin marching us into a large block type building with a sign on it that reads "Gas Chamber". Inside the floor is all dirt. We all line up against the surrounding walls. So far no big deal. Then the Sgt. Yells "All right. Take off your masks!" He leaves his on. The shit hits the fan. It felt like every pour on my skin opened up, your eyes filled with tears and the nose turned into a running faucet. I tried to take a deep breath and choked to death. I took short breaths. You can't see cause your eyes and nose are burning like hell. We hear the Sgt. direct us to put our left hand on the man in front of us and are told to walk in a circle and sing the song "Jingle Bells". So that's what we do. We march in a circle inside the building. We cant see or breath but we all seem to remember the words to Jingle Bells. After about 5 long minutes he guides us out the door into fresh air and we hear another Sgt. yell "Fall In". We are all staggering around, bumping into each other and many are laughing about this. We form up and then move down a road and there's smoke filling the air. They are setting off smoke bombs. A Sgt. stops us and asks us "What do you do when you see a bright flash?!" Thanks to the previous 2 hour lecture we know the thing to do is hit the deck. We all hit the ground. That little exercise ends then they move us down the road further where there is low crawl area with barbed wire about 2 feet off the ground which made a roof over the low crawl pit. He orders our platoon under the wire. We low crawl underneath it till he says to stop. At this point all of us our on our bellies. He says they will pop smoke first then we will be gassed again. Fair enough I thought. I see smoke then I ll put the mask on. Laying there in the mud I wondered what the hell I was doing here. I thought of Linda and then the gas hit. Where the hell is the smoke you sadistic bastards. I take a deep breath trying to put my mask on and my stomach goes into convulsions, cough, gag the nose the eyes. I had put the mask on but it was filling up with all the stuff from my nose and mouth. I started to get up and remembered the wire and new I just had to ride it out. I remember trying to breath and lying there clenching the mud with both hands. One man ahead of me panics and stands up braking through the wire. The Drill Sgt. yells at him "Boy you better get back down there before I lift a boot and stomp you one". The man runs by the Sgt. who grabs him but the trainee pushes him back and yells "Man! you keep your hands off me or I'll kick your ass!". And he damn well meant it too. Another man jumps up, jerks off his pack and begins running discarding his equipment. The Sgt.s are yelling for him to stop but he just keeps running away. We were finally allowed to stand up but the Drill Sgt. yelled.."You take off those masks and you will do it all over again". My mask is filled with stuff from my nose eyes and stomach. I am so fucking mad at this point I was ready to hit anybody. As I looked around we were all quite a pathetic looking lot. Covered in mud and bodily fluids. Things settle down and we assemble into another formation. I look at the watch Linda gave me for my birthday and the watch I would wear trough out my tour in Nam and it reads 1155. I figure we will march back for lunch. The Sgt. gives us a quick last briefing on CBR related warfare. My head has cleared up but I'm still mad as hell. Lets go eat...Boom! A large explosion goes off to our left the Sgt. yells "Hit it!" We all drop to the ground and cover our heads. I glance up and that Sgt. has a large stick with more CS gas just gushing out it. He runs the can over all of us lying on the ground. I yell out loud "God damn it!" I don't get my mask on in time and once again the same physical reaction. I was fed up with this and stood up and started to walk out of formation and stopped after one step saying to myself "Stick it out stupid." I turned around, fell to my knees and filled that mask up with more of my insides. Glenn, a friend of mine was hit in the head by another mans helmet and had to get a wound stitched. Later that night as I was addressing the letter to Linda with a complete report on the days events someone in the barracks jokingly yelled, "Gas! Gas!". It sent shivers down everyones back including my own. But that evening many of the guys were starting to laugh about it. For me I just remember how mad I was.

Nored/Linda. Its Sunday June 1st and one of the training Sargents has brought our platoon about 20 cases of beer. We bought it all and he made a pretty good profit. I drank about half a can. I just didn't care for the taste of beer. My fellow soldiers couldn't drink fast enough.When I opened this letter to reread it after all these years an object fell from the folded pages into my lap. It was the pull tab from the beer I had opened.

As mentioned in the description of the CB&R training my friend Glenn was hit in the head by another mans helmet when the man flung it off in a panic to put his mask on. . In this photo you can see Glenn with the white bandage on his head.

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Drinking, smoking and doing drugs was not and would not be a problem for me in Nam. My father is probably credited for that.. When my father drank he turned into a different person. Thankfully he was not a violent drunk. I can't remember a time when he struck me or my mother. But, when drunk, he would verbally tear down everything. His drunken rants broke the back of any positive spirit that may have existed in the home. He was a good man who worked rotating shifts in a factory and on weekends worked part time at a car lot and on top of that he had his memories of the war. I can't let his drinking define all of who this man was. But I grew up with such a bias towards alcohol that I shunned people who were drinking. In the service and especially in Nam while others bonded by getting drunk or high to let off steam I tended not to join them. In war it just isn't being under fire that bonds men its all the other stuff they do to cope with being under fire...While I was over seas my Mom had given him a choice. Stop drinking or she would leave him......He stopped.

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Having just returned to our barracks after a long grueling day of marching and training we discover the training cadre and drill sgt has inspected our barracks and found it unsatisfactory and expressed their displeasure by taking everything everybody owned from the wall lockers and foot lockers and throwing it to the floor.

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As the final days of basic training and graduation approached. We were finally notified as to what are job was going to be in the Army. The vast majority of us was assigned to be infantryman. To most of us this was just another step closer to going to Nam. Our barracks for Advance Infantry Training were with in walking distance of our present barracks. We had the weekend off. I believe it was Friday night that we moved into our new barracks and then I made a terrible unauthorized decision to fly home. I went home for about 40 hours. Late Sunday afternoon I flew back. I walked back into the barracks and dropped my coat on the lower bunk. What I felt then was what every soldier has felt just before he goes AWOL. There are 2 times in my life that the emotions had swelled up so bad in me I thought I would explode. This was the first time. The warmth of Linda's kisses were still on my lips and the feel of her hair. Man, let me out of this damn place!!!!.........It really is something to think how our brain works. Seconds turned into minutes and I calmed down. There were two voices in my head having this argument. If you were a bystander I'm sure you could have heard them.

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The photo on the left was taken during a class on explosives during our Advance Infantry Training (AIT). We are watching a 30 foot section of "detcord" (detonation cord) being detonated.

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Shown left. A cloud of dust rises from the explosion of a hand grenade or "frags" as everyone use to call them. "Frags" is taken from the word fragmentation. To the right of the photo you can see the sand bag protected area where a trainee and an instructor have taken cover having just thrown a frag. I do remember the very first time I walked into the "throw pit" with the instructor. Its very intimidating holding an explosive device in your hand. Its a very simple device. There is a handle (spoon) that runs along the side of the grenade. When you put the frag into your hand your fingers naturally wrap around this handle. He says pull the pin. I do and suddenly realize both our lives rest in me not dropping the damn thing. He says assume the throwing position. I do. He says throw it. I do.As soon as it leaves my hand the spring loaded handle flys off and the 5 second fuse ignites. We both hit the deck and Boom its over with and I believe we all got to throw 2 per soldier. Much respect is due these instructors. I'm sure they have plenty of stories to tell.

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We are shown here in AIT (Advanced Infantry Training) firing the M-60 machine gun. This was the short range course. Later they took us to the long range course. Shown in photo is Charly Scott of Hayward Ca. holding up the outer shell of his helmet containing about 100 rounds of 60 ammo. Charly is wearing the helmet liner and is acting as assistant gunner. In combat the frantic call for "bring up the gun!" comes to mind.

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Shown left is a photo taken during A.I.T. It is my company showing 100+ men on one of the many cross country marches. The pack everyone has on their back is the M-1961, nic named the "Butt pack". In Nam we would be using the much improved tropical rucksack.

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Shown left is a couple of fellow soldiers who have hit the dirt and have taken a defensive position in a mock training ambush. This was during A.I.T. training. Are guns are loaded with blanks and the red device on the end of the barrel is there to create enough back pressure in the barrel, when fired, to send the bolt back to eject the empty shell casing.

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Shown on the left is the June 27th 1969 issue of Life Magazine. It featured 12 pages of photographs of all, except for 25, of America's
242
Vietnam killed in action during the week of May 28th to June 3rd 1969. "One Weeks Dead". It was a sobering issue to say the least. You couldn't help but pick up this particular issue to see the many faces of our generation who had given all for their country.

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Early on in basic I had my parents send me my photo album/diary book.I asked many of my fellow soldiers to sign their name and where they were from. The ones in the darker ink were signed at the end of AIT. One dated his comments Aug. 27th 1969 I noted another comment I jotted down on the page that on Aug. 26th we still had no orders where we were going. Everyone had hopes we might go to Germany or Korea. This of course wasn't the case.

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Having completed all my training. I went on leave from September 1-18th. On Friday, Sept. 19th. 1969, I was to report to the Oakland Army Base. The base was about 20 minutes drive from my house. At 4.10 on the morning of the 19th I logged in my diary that Steve Smith and Dennis Dillion who I had taken training with came by my parents house to catch a ride to the base. My Dad delivered us later that morning. After reporting in at Oakland we found it was easy to leave the base. We were issued out jungle fatigue clothing and was told we would be leaving Monday morning. The 4 photographs were taken on Sunday the 21st. 1 of the photos were taken at Linda's parents backyard. That's Linda's sister Karen,me, Linda and Linda's Mom. The other photo shows my parents and I in the front yard. The other 2 photos were taken in my parents house Sunday night shortly before I left. We may have even caught some updated news on the T.V. about the war. Though the one photo is not composed well it does show my Dad's face as well as my own. Though I would not have thought this at the time. I'm sure that his son's situation, preparing to leave for war, is reminding him of how he felt when he and the rest of his division loaded onto the troop ships and sailed out under the Golden Gate to the war in the pacific. He's worried about me and at the same time reliving all that crap he had seen on those islands. My mom probably cant believe she's going to have worry and wait for another man to come home from yet another war. This time her own son.........Late Sunday night my parents and Linda drove me to Oakland and outside a large warehouse filled with a new wave of replacements for the Vietnam War we said our goodbyes.

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After spending Sunday night on cots inside the warehouse, early Monday morning we were all loaded on buses and transported to Travis Air Force Base about 1 hour away. At Travis we were loaded onto a civilian airliner and got settled in and soon we lifted off. While in basic training I had wrote to Linda on how I felt about the possibility of getting killed. It was strange to be reflecting on ones life at 19. As I looked thru my photo album/diary in the barracks in basic training I couldn't help but realize how fortunate I had been. Friends, family and Linda. My job and places I had been. I was one lucky son of a bitch to put it bluntly. As we headed out over the pacific I was at peace with myself. While others on the plane might have been seeking support from verses from the Bible. A couple of lines from the song "And when I die" by Blood Sweat & Tears played out in my head. "and when I die and when I'm gone there'll be one child left to carry on." and "and all I ask of dying is to go naturally.".

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Our flight arrived at night. As we descended and prepared to land at the Bein Hoa Air Base, not far from Saigon, I could see lightening off in the distance thru the window. Embarking from the plane the climate change was obvious. Much like sticking your head into a steam bath. We were loaded onto buses that had screens over the windows to keep the V.C. from throwing a grenade into an open window. Learning that, you realized your life was in danger from the minute you arrived. We were taken to the 90th Replacement center. The photo on the left was probably taken the next day at the 90th. In the background you can see the bus with covered windows. That's Mike EKlund on the left and Doyle on the right. We had all taken stateside training together. All 3 of us would wind up in Delta company. Doyle came down with malaria in the first month or so of his tour and spent about 6 months in the hospital.

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On 9-23-69 we exchanged our American money for military currency. It was smaller in size then the U.S. bills and everyone nicknamed it "Monopoly Money". I had heard that many of the Vietnamese hired to work on the U.S. bases would gladly exchange the military currency for real American currency at a lopsided rate. For example they might give you $15 dollars of the Monopoly Money for a good old American $10 bill. The military watched out for American soldiers sending large amounts of money orders back home that obviously exceeded what they were paid.

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At some time after arriving at the First Cav's training center, the Division's Chaplin sent out the standard form letter shown here. It went out to all of the replacements parents or wives. For many of the recipients I'm sure it sent their hearts racing with fear after reading the return address, "Office of the Division Chaplain. First Cavalry Division (AM)". I'm sure many of these letters were opened with shaking hands. Despite its intent to comfort and reassure the loved one back home, I can't help but think many wished they hadn't bothered sending it.

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9-26-69

(Nored) On 9-25-69 I received orders assigning me to the First Cavalry Division (Airmobile). The "Cav's" slogan was "The First Team". Latter that day Eklund, Doyle, Gross and myself and others were transported to the First Team Academy (FTA) where we would spend several days in orientation and await new orders. This photo shows the entrance to the FTA. We all thought the FTA thing was funny because the initials adorned every bathroom wall in the Army but stood for something else.

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9-27-69. Several of us were introduced to the sewage treatment facility during shit detail. I believe the last time I would see or flush a real toilet was at the 98th Replacement Center. All other latrine facilities at Army bases thru out Nam used the 2 halves of a 55 gallon drum and then covered with gasoline and burnt.

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9-28-69. Today they tried to teach us how to repel from a helicopter using the tower shown in the photo. This turned out to be a waste of time since the vast majority of us would not have to do this. It was a definite requirement and justification for it if you were going to be part of a Long Range Recon Patrol team (LRRP or "Lurp" team)

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9-29-69. We went on a long march today. We fired our M-16's and the M-79 grenade launcher. We got a chance to throw some grenades and returned to have more classes.

9-30-69. The day before I had noticed another group of replacements watching a medavac demonstration and noticed they used a volunteer to be lifted up as shown in the photo. I was able to contact one of the Sgts and volunteer for the next days demonstration. That's me in the photo. At the time this photo was taken I still had never set foot in a helicopter. They winched me up and pulled me inside and took off doing a circle or 2 around the FTA and returned and then landed. Cool as hell I thought. Later in the day we had classes on the 2 enemies we were fighting in Nam. The V.C. and the V.D. I also logged that it rained a lot today.